Saturday, August 18, 2012

Saturday Sneak Peek #3

Today I am sharing the third excerpt from Ain't Too Proud to Beg, my upcoming fall release. I forgot to mention, for the grammar nazis, that all of these excerpts are unedited. The whole manuscript won't go to my editor until the story is complete.

In a few seconds, V’s snores
reverberated in the room. I decided to wait until he was out cold before I went
to find some coffee and call Shontae with an update.

“V, can you hear me?” I asked, even
though I knew he couldn’t. “I’m going to get some coffee. Be right back.”

Someone at the nurse’s station gave
me directions to the cafeteria. I took the elevator down to the hospital’s
lower level. Once the doors closed, I exhaled. Nothing could’ve prepared me for
the sight that met me when I entered Vaughn’s room. It was a good thing they
had him heavily sedated. The Frankenstein contraption rigged above the bed
holding his most damaged leg was enough to make the toughest man wet his pants.
When his head cleared enough for his curiosity to take over, Vaughn’s reaction
was going to be ugly. Six stainless steel rods about twelve inches long
appeared to be screwed through the bones to hold his leg in place. Large clamps
fastened to the ends of the rods. It resembled something from a torture
chamber.

On the phone, Craig said V’s
condition was stable, which was most likely what he’d been told by the hospital
staff. But what kind of shape did I expect someone who’d just collided with a
mountain in a two-seater to be in? Vaughn obviously had no idea yet how severe
his injuries were. Would he be able to walk again? And if he could, would he be
marked with a limp for the rest of his life? These were surely the questions V
would ask when he was no longer under the influence of the painkillers.
Hopefully, I’d be nowhere around when that happened.

A secluded spot on the lower level
provided the perfect spot to make the call.

“Hi, honey,” Shontae answered. “I’ve
been waiting for you to call. Have you seen Vaughn yet?”

I rubbed the tension in my neck.
“Baby, it’s worse than I thought. They have one of his legs pinned together
with bolts. The other one is in a hard cast. It’s impossible to even tell what
kind of condition his face is in, because he’s stitched and bandaged.” I
hesitated. “It’s bad.”

“Oh, God. Is he going to be able to
walk? What are the doctors saying?”

“The doctor hasn’t been in to see
him yet. He’s sleeping right now, compliments of the happy meds.”

“You know Vaughn has no family to
help him. Find out what you can from the doctor so you can talk to him when he
wakes up.”

“I’ll see what I can get, but I have
to be back on set in two days. I won’t be able to oversee his care.”

“He’ll understand, and I know he
will appreciate whatever you can do for him.”

Before we ended the call, I promised
to let her know what I discussed with the doctor. Shontae was right. V needed
me there. He wasn’t normally high strung, but who knows how he’d react to
multiple bad news? Someone needed to be there to console him when the time
came. Could he make V see that simply surviving an accident of that magnitude
was a miracle in itself?

Probably not.

***

The chair in the corner was empty
when I reopened my eyes. Other than that annoying beep of the monitor, silence
was my only companion. All I could think of was how, little more than a month
ago, I’d topped the list of Ebony magazine’s “50 Finest,” their answer
to People’s Caucasian-heavy “Fifty Most Beautiful” list. The
photographer who’d done the spread kept raving about my dark complexion, high
cheekbones and deep dimples. I was well aware that many of the lists I’d made
had nothing to do with my acting skill. And I didn’t care. Being recognized for
my physical attributes did more for me than a Golden Globe or Oscar ever could.
It kept me on women’s minds all over the country, which was all I needed to
seal a hookup every night of the year. Just being a working actor in Hollywood
was a major accomplishment. It paid the mortgage on my crib in the LA Grand
condos overlooking downtown Los Angeles, my car note, and filled my closets
with designer clothes. That was all the honeys were interested in.

Now
everything that gave my life meaning was in jeopardy. My ride was wrecked, and
since I didn’t have enough clout to give the studio reason to postpone filming
until I recovered, most likely I’d be replaced in my current film role. The
possibility of losing my looks scared the hell out of me. The more I
contemplated how my life was falling apart, the more panicky I became and had
to pull in a couple of deep breaths to keep from hyperventilating.

Almost as if he’d been summoned by
my near looming panic attack, the elusive doctor appeared.“Good afternoon, Mr. Breland, I’m Dr. Liu.”
The middle-aged Asian man pushed his glasses up the bridge of his nose. “I
performed your surgery. How are you feeling?”

The pounding in my head seemed to
drown out his words. “I’m hurting now.”

“On a scale of one to ten, with ten
being the worst, how would you rate the pain?”

I groaned again. “About seven.”

“I’d like to discuss your
condition,” the doctor went on as if a seven wasn’t worth acknowledging. I
should’ve said ten. He glanced in Devon’s direction. “And explain exactly what
the surgery accomplished and what your recovery will entail.”

They shook hands then Dr. Liu turned
back to me. “Do you remember anything about the accident?” the doctor asked,
simultaneously scanning the computer screen.

“Not much. I was on 141 and tried to
take a curve. Guess I skidded and lost control.”

“The accident happened closer to
Montrose Memorial, Mr. Breland, but you were LifeFlighted here. We’re the only twenty-four-hour, Level Five Trauma Center
in the region. If you’re up to it, we
can talk about the surgery and where we go from here.”

“Okay. Straight, no chaser.”

“All right.” Dr. Liu pulled a chair
alongside the bed and sat. “A combination of the seatbelt and the airbags saved
your life, but apparently all your weight came to bear on your left leg on
impact. You have a complete compound fracture of the right tibia and fibula,
both bones in your lower leg. The force of the crash pushed everything up so
that your left hip absorbed the impact, which dislocated the hip and shattered
your thighbone. When you were brought in, your foot was facing in the opposite
direction. I had to stand over the table and wrestle the hip back into the
socket. Your right leg sustained a simple fracture and is in a standard plaster
cast.”

What I heard turned my stomach. I
swallowed to keep the nausea down. The possibilities momentarily overwhelmed
me. What if I ended up with a limp? Who would hire me? If I couldn’t act, what
could I do? No way was I going back to selling men’s wear in a retail store. As
far back as I could remember, the only thing I wanted to be was an actor. And
I’d achieved my dream. It would kill me to go back to punching a clock and
dealing with John Q. Public on a daily basis.

Dr. Liu continued. “The surgery took
about two and a half hours. A titanium nail was inserted into the left tibia
with five screws to secure it in place. I couldn’t put a cast on because
there’s a open wound in the side where the broken bones came through the skin.”

From the corner of my eye, I saw
Devon squirm.

“I couldn’t do a skin graft to close
the wound, because you were too low on blood. You were given seven units. The
graft will have to be done in the future.”

“Another surgery?” This was turning
into a nightmare. When was I going to wake up? My chest tightened, and I
struggled to get the words out. “Will I…be able to walk again?”

“Most definitely, Mr. Breland,” Dr.
Liu said a little too cheerfully for my taste. “But complete rehabilitation
will take some time. Meanwhile, you’ll need to be in traction for about seven
weeks.

This guy was tripping. I couldn’t be
locked down that long. The idea of any kind of restraints made me crazy. Unless
it was to a headboard with padded handcuffs. “You mean, I have to stay in this
bed all that time?”

“It’s necessary in order to keep the
bones in the right place for them to heal,” he explained in a flat, emotionless
manner. “A regimen of physical therapy will start once you’re on crutches.
Considering your car rolled over several times, it’s a miracle you have no
spinal injuries.”

The sarcasm really wasn’t
intentional. It just came out as I imagined myself looking like a fly caught in
a spider web. This couldn’t be happening. I’d been on my way to work out a deal
that could have set me up for life. Now I was shackled to this bed like a
prisoner. “What about my face?” I mumbled.

“It sustained damage from the airbag
and flying glass. That’s all I know from your chart. One of the surgeons from
Plastics will be in to see you shortly.”

The fear constricting my throat
wouldn’t allow me to speak. I turned to the wall and didn’t answer.

“It could have been much worse, Mr.
Breland. I’ll stop in to check on you tomorrow.” The doctor turned toward
Devon. “It was a pleasure meeting you, Mr. Burke.”

“Likewise.” Devon rose from the
chair. “Can I speak with you for a minute?”

“Certainly, let’s go into the
hallway.”

He and Dr. Liu left the room.

What have I done to deserve this? The second the thought came to mind,
so did the answer, and I had to force away images of different women haranguing
me for lying, deceiving them, standing them up, because I had a better offer
and any number of other sins.

As hard
as I tried, I couldn’t stop the hot tear from rolling down my face. I was in my
prime, way too young to be confined to a wheelchair for the rest of my life.
And I knew without a doubt I didn’t have the intestinal fortitude of
Christopher Reeve or Teddy Pendergrass. If this was what the future had to
hold, I’d rather be dead.

I agree with Melody, your descriptions make the entire hospital scene come to life, Chicki. Looking forward to reading the book. I can't wait to meet the woman who's going to take on Breland. Oh, and I keep seeing the gorgeous actor he's supposed to resemble...what's his name again? I rem the dimples and his dark-chocolate skin...lol

Book Two in the Stafford Brothers Series

Book One in the Stafford Brothers Series

About Me

Shades of Romance Magazine 2011 Author of the Year, Chicki
Brown has published nine novels and one novella, all of which have made
different Kindle bestseller lists. A voracious reader since she was a child,
Chicki grew up in New Jersey reading everything she could get her hands on. Now
she concentrates on reading romance, women’s fiction and suspense. When she is
not writing or reading, Brown devotes her time to mentoring aspiring authors.

Chicki was born and
raised in New Jersey and now calls suburban Atlanta, Georgia home.